Snowflake
by Sutaahiiraa
Summary: Blaine's late - and Sebastian does not like to be kept waiting.


**snowflake.**

**author's note:** so i'm writing different versions of the 30 day challenge - one of them is a giant clusterfuck because my friends and i wanna be better writers. one day i said, screw it, and out popped this. now - it's my first seblaine so be gentle on me :'( i don't know how i feel about it. i'm just keeping the 30 day title for now. this is written in sebastian's point of view.**  
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4:33. He's late. He's never late. You're going to have him owe you a dollar for every minute that passes. You grab your coffee cup to take a sip and grimace at the taste of bland, cold coffee that greets your tastebuds. You're going to make him buy you another coffee, too - if one could really consider what you had as coffee, that is.

Just what exactly are you doing?

You wait for no one. You've never waited for anything - you always just took. That was just how you rolled until you saw those brown eyes from across the room and your world flipped upside down. It was amazing what a person could do to another, whether they realized it or not.

Your peers now constantly tease you about how soft you have apparently become, how you blush at the sound of his voice, and how you perk up and your eyebrow arched in interest when his name was spoken in your presence. You constantly tell people that no one would be able to find their bodies once you were through with them, but you were beginning to realize that in his presence, no one believed you anymore.

He was going to have to buy you a bottle of your most favorite wine, imported from France, aged just the way you like it.

You begin tapping your fingers against the tabletop, growing frustrated as time continued to tick by with the seat across from you still empty. You glance out the window and let out a sigh when you realize it had begun to snow. Brushing snow off of your clothes was a hassle and caused wrinkles, and did anyone truly realize how hard it was to get a decent dry cleaner in Ohio? No one has a clue what they're doing, clearly, and you don't trust your designer clothes with just anyone.

"I'm late, I know, how much do I owe you?"

You could feel every ounce of frustration that had built up in your body suddenly begin to melt out of your system. You turn in your seat, raising your head to meet his gaze, seeing the apologies written in his eyes. He was clearly genuinely sorry, but you can't let him off the hook that easily.

Words fail you without warning, and you find yourself staring at him. Small snowflakes gradually melting in his black hair, setting his curls free of the gel that was trying so hard to keep them down. Snow melting on his black pea coat, forming water droplets that roll down the front of his coat. There's part of you kind of hopes that the snowflakes drip onto his clothes and cause them to stick to his muscular physique. A grin forms on your face as your gaze ascended to his rosy cheeks and full, pink lips.

"You can stop staring and answer me, Seb. What do you want from me? Dinner, right? Champagne, right? Wine? Or Courvoisier?"

You laugh. "You know me well, babe. You kept me waiting a whole nine minutes. I was beginning to think I was being stood up."

"You know I wouldn't do that to you. Especially since you were scowling at the snow when I walked in. Just so you're aware, I did notice that."

You laugh again, and then quickly stand up, easily amused at how much shorter he is than you. You reach forward, your index and middle fingers brushing under his eyes to wipe traces of melting slush away from his cheeks. You could almost swear that his face grew warmer and pinker under your touch.

"Listen here, my little snowman. Sit and give me your excuses as to why you kept me waiting, then you can go take me out to dinner. I'm thinking Italian. Then I want to dance, at Scandals. I want you as close to me as I can get you. This is not up for discussion, Killer."

Your confidence and cool words are cut off by his full lips against your own, warmth spreading throughout your body and making your heart skip a beat. Damn him. Damn him and his ability to cut off your words and make you unable to do anything but respond to his kiss, your hands finding their way to his hips to pull him closer, fingertips starting to skate their way toward the waistband of his gray slacks.

"Seb. Not here." His words come from nowhere and you wonder when exactly it was that he pulled away.

"Are you kidding me? You kept me waiting and now you're denying me - "

"You want to fool around at a coffee shop, in public?"

"It's kind of sexy, don't you think?"

"Please. I want you alone, not in front of the entire Lima Bean. Sit your ass down and let me explain myself to you, deal? Dinner, dancing, and your dorm room."

Not only did he have the ability to soften you and to make you a romantic sap, but he had the ability to silence you and make you agree with promises of good company and good sex.

Damn him.


End file.
